


Lucky Ones

by the_other_woman



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_other_woman/pseuds/the_other_woman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gaby was walking all alone through the streets of Venice. Her bruised and battered tiny silhouette was illuminated by the neon lights. She let her mind wander through the recent events. She tried with all her might to find the reason behind the failure, but she couldn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cruel World

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote it like a year ago - that's how long it takes for me to publish my works. Please excuse my Venice fetish, I just adore that city so much. Titles of the chapters and the whole fic come from Lana Del Rey songs.

“In Italy it all began and in Italy it all ends.” That idea, no matter how poetic, made Gaby feel a knot tying in her guts. She had never meant for this to happen, but sometimes, for unknown reasons, the road gets tough and rocky, and you can do nothing about it. Just stand and watch as everything falls apart.

The U.N.C.L.E. team was assigned to take care of another Italian bad guy wannabe. The man of probably several insecurities had tried to make it to the Top 5 Italian Mobs record by selling a highly dangerous drug on the Venetian streets. The substance in question was making everyone who would take it feel powerful, literally. It was giving an illusion of superhuman strength and speed. The hallucinations the drug was causing were making it all seem real. However, as soon as the drug would start to wear off, the pulse was slowing down so much that unless a person took another dose, their heart would stop.  The intel U.N.C.L.E. had received claimed that the Scarlotti mob was planning on using it on a larger scale, probably to eliminate the competition, but at the same time causing significant collateral damage. The corrupted police couldn’t do a thing about it and since there was a threat of bio attack, the team needed to be assembled. The three of them knew the risk, but they’d been through something like that before. They thought it would be simple for its standard. They were so wrong. Yes, after Rome and Istanbul Gaby, Illya and Napoleon worked like a well-oiled machine. They got to know each other, gained one another’s trust. Some of them developed certain feelings towards each other, but neither of them said or done anything about it.

Gaby was walking all alone through the streets of Venice. Her bruised and battered tiny silhouette was illuminated by the neon lights. She let her mind wander through the recent events. She tried with all her might to find the reason behind the failure, but she couldn’t. Maybe they were outsmarted by the mafia, maybe someone from the agency had been a mol and sold them off. It didn’t really matter. Gaby was certain of only one thing: she lost her friend and she lost Illya.

Their cover was simple. Illya was playing the bad boy gangster wannabe. Gaby, as usually, was his fiancé - the ring Illya gave her back in Rome never leaving her finger. Solo was supposed to be Gaby’s brother. As simple as that. Illya soon enough proved himself worthy of entering the Scarlotti mob, being promoted from a capo to consigliere really fast. He would spend weeks doing terrible things just to please the boss. The murder, the stealing, the sabotage, the carnage. Gaby was both proud and worried about him, but Kuryakin never complained. Even if it was eating him from the inside, he said nothing. He kept on going in deeper and deeper never breaking his part. Sometimes Gaby would notice him clenching his jaw, his palms trembling. At those moments she knew he needed to be left alone. Even though she was well aware of how violent he could get in his darkest moments, she was certain he would never hurt her. Yet at the same time she knew that it was loneliness that he needed most in those moments, not some gentle and comforting pat on the back or, oh horror, a hug.

Gaby found herself passing by the church of San Salvador. After a small internal battle she decided to enter the holy place. She’d never been the one to pray nor had she been a firm believer, but she was desperate now. She walked down the aisle and sat on the bench closest to the altar. The baroque church was empty at that time, there was darkness all around apart from a few candles here and there. Gaby sat all alone not quite sure what she wanted to pray for. Chiesa di San Salvador, church of the Holy Saviour. She started her prayer, talking out loud - she was alone.

\- I don’t remember the last time I was praying, not to mention visiting a church. They say people come to God when they are in desperate need for help. And now I am. - Gaby fell on her knees, her hands folded, head bowed. - Please Lord, save him. I know I’m asking for a miracle, but please don’t take him away from me. He deserves a second chance. He’s a good man, honest. I’m not asking for an absolution for myself, I don’t deserve it, but he does. I beg you, Lord, save him.

 Gaby hold back her tears and almost ran away from the church. As soon as she was outside she took a deep breath, inhaling all the smells of Venice; the water, the coffee, the pizza, the herbs... Absentmindedly she started walking again.  On her left there was a small store with venetian masks. She and Illya had visited a similar one a few days back. They were picking up masks for the upcoming masquerade at the Scarlotti mansion. She recalled how they were laughing while trying on different costumes - her dressed as la bauta or Illya as il medico della peste. She rarely had a chance to see Illya relaxed, but to hear him laughing out loud was heart-warming.  Even more so given the hell Illya was going through for the sake of their mission. She recalled the moment the Russian spy was tying the knots of her mask. He was standing behind her, so close to her body yet not close enough. His tall, slim silhouette was towering above her petite figure. Illya was trying not to pull the strands of her heir into the knots of the mask. Ever so gentle. Then his fingertips dropped to her shoulders, his touch was cold as ice, but his breath was hot against her head and she didn’t know whether to freeze or burn. Obviously the moment was spoiled by Solo.

She nearly smiled at the memories of Napoleon walking on them just as they were about to kiss. He kept on doing it in Rome, Istanbul and here, in Venice. All those evenings in the hotel, the dinners, the shopping, the sightseeing, and the masquerade. Gaby drowned in the memory of her, dressed in a tight, black gown walking down the stairs, hand in hand with Illya who was looking sharp as ever in his tuxedo. They were both wearing black, laced masks they had chosen earlier that day. They would politely greet the members of the Scarlotti family, sip champagne and when the orchestra started playing Violino Tzigano she was taken aback by Illya offering her a dance. She gladly accepted that offer.

\- So you do dance. And I didn’t even have to wrestle you. - Gaby commented, following her partner’s lead. Illya’s hold on her waist was feather light as if he was afraid to crash her bones. Nevertheless, she trembled under his touch.

\- I learnt my lesson. - he chuckled softly, his piercing gaze never leaving Gaby’s eyes.

\- I thought you don’t like dancing.

\- I never said that. It’s just... - he pulled Gaby up so that now she was standing on his feet. - Much better.

They both laughed. Even now she had to stand on her toes so that she didn’t have look up that much at him. Illya pulled her closer, their lips mere inches from each other. And just then he felt someone tapping on his back. It was Solo.

\- I swear on mother Russia, Cowboy, one day I will kill you. - Illya sighed deeply. He let go of Gaby and followed his partner. She was left alone in the middle of the huge ballroom, surrounded by couples dancing the tango. She stormed out of there and headed to the nearest balcony. She needed fresh air. The summer night was so hot and the warm breeze did little to cool her skin, but at the same time she truly felt cold without Illya by her side.

When the Russian spy who had been assigned to infiltrate the mafia from the inside went m.i.a., Gaby and Napoleon knew something was wrong. They decided to drop the game and save him. Somehow even their rescue mission went south and they got attacked by a dozen of henchmen. It all happened so fast. There were grunts and shots and cracking of bones. And there was blood. A lot of it. Somewhere during the fight the two friends split. That was the last time Gaby saw the C.I.A.’s finest agent.

The rain started to pour as Gaby took the turn into Piazza Di Marco. No longer than 48 hours ago she was sitting at that elegant restaurant by the Doge’s library, sipping wine and eating vanilla ice-cream. Illya was sitting in front of her, smiling. She remembered the gleam in his eye, so kind and... loving. He would smile at something she said and even bought her a single red rose from that lovely old lady. The string quartet was softly playing La Serenata. And just as they were about to kiss Napoleon appeared. Another almost kiss. Gaby touched her lips at the memory. They never got to finish what they would had started. She didn’t realise she had reached the Grande Canale. She sat at the stairs of a nearby bridge and started crying, the summer rain was washing away her tears.

The memory was playing in her mind like a broken record. She had found Illya in the room she had assumed belonged to the boss. The door was slightly ajar so no one from the inside could see her, but at the same time she could see Don Scarlotti holding a gun to the head of kneeling Illya. Gaby’s hands were trembling and her heart was pounding like a hammer at the sight of her beloved man, beaten and about to be executed. She pointed her gun at the unaware criminal. Illya probably had sensed her, because he raised his head and smiled at her. His face was covered in bruises and his lower lip was cut and yet he gave her this beautiful, breathtaking smile she loved so much. In that moment he seemed utterly happy. She was just about to pull the trigger when she heard footsteps at the end of the hall. And just like that she made her choice. When it came to survival, during her time in Germany Gaby had learnt it’s better when other die – not her. Before she even realised her primal instinct had struck and in a second she was climbing out of the window. A moment later she heard a gunshot coming out of the room.

Gaby completely broke down. She was sobbing loudly paying no attention to people passing her by. Solo gave no sign of life since they split. She knew she should head straight to the hotel, gave an update to Waverly, pack her bags and leave Venice behind. But her feet failed her. She didn’t have the strength to walk, to do anything at all. So she stayed, sitting on the stairs of Ponte Della Pagila, crying. She hid her face in her hands.

\- Ciao amore. Come stai? - a deep, familiar voice echoed above her. Gaby lifted her head only to see the man she loved, the man she thought dead was standing in front of her smiling. She jumped into his arms, holding him tight like it was their last moment on this earth. His hands were entangled into her hair as she was crying tears of joy in his shoulder.

\- I thought you’re dead... - Gaby sobbed quietly, her face still close to his chest. She could hear his heartbeat. The sound of his heart pumping the blood made her realise it was all real. He was truly alive and there.

\- Saved by the Cowboy. - Illya smirked, breaking their embrace. He cupped her check, looking at her as if she was his whole world.

\- You’re welcome, Peril. - Napoleon came closer to them, smiling at both of his friends. He looked exhausted; there was sweat on his forehead and his ever perfect hair was in an utter mess.

\- What about the others?

\- Taken care of. - Solo smiled lightly. He ran his hands over his slightly bruised face cleaning himself off some dirt and blood.

\- I’m so sorry, Illya.. - Gaby didn’t get the chance to finish as Illya put his finger on her lips.

\- You did the right thing. I was there with Solo. God, if you stayed someone could hurt you! I would never forgive myself...

\- Me neither. - Gaby interrupted Illya. Before they realised they faces were almost touching.

\- Oh for God’s sake just kiss already! - Napoleon shouted turning his back on them.

And finally they kissed. In a pouring rain with Ponte dei Sospiri behind them. After so many months they finally kissed and it was better than any of them expected. It was all love, devotion, longing, passion, and more love. After what seemed like ages they broke their kiss, their foreheads still touching. Illya couldn’t help but to caress Gaby’s rosy cheek.

\- Umm I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s kind of raining? Maybe you prefer to take it to the hotel where there’s no rain, but a full mini bar?

Both Gaby and Illya giggled. Holding hands they headed to their hotel with Napoleon complaining about the weather. All of them bruised and tired, but now happy, wandered along the Grande Canal.


	2. Honeymoon

The team was sitting together in Solo’s hotel room, Gaby snuggled into Illya’s arm. Both boys were chatting and laughing and grinning at each other like old friends, as if the events of past 24 hours had never happened. In that moment it almost felt like they weren’t spies who just had almost died. They were sipping whisky and simply enjoying their last night in Venice.

But Gaby wasn’t at peace at all. She was smiling at Napoleon’s jokes and from time to time kissing Illya’s cheek, but there was a war going on in her mind. She was a tough girl, she could take care of herself, but something about Illya made her feel weak. The worst part was  - she loved that vulnerability. Every time he would look at her she felt something fluttering in her stomach. She hated that he was making her feel like a teenage girl crushing on a class bad boy. On the other hand... She loved the way his voice sounded while calling her a “little chop shop girl”, when he praised her for being a good agent, she loved how his fingertips felt on her skin, she loved... But she hated... On the other hand, couldn’t she yearn for a man and still be a strong woman who belong to herself?

\- Looks like someone’s sleepy. - Napoleon grinned at Gaby who didn’t realise she was half-lying on the couch, her head pressed into Illya’s chest. The Russian spy was lightly caressing her arm and the sound of his heartbeat must had made her nearly fall asleep.

\- So why don’t you go to bed, Cowboy? - Gaby bit back smirking.

\- This big empty bed? All alone?

\- You’re such a slut, Solo. - Gaby laughed and her friends soon joined her. In that moment they were just a group of friends drinking and laughing and that reality seemed stranger than any dream given how much had happened in just 24 hours.  In a few minutes the laughter was replaced by yawning.

\- Guess it’s time to take some rest. We have a briefing in the morning. - Illya took Gaby’s little hand in his bigger one. - You want to go? - Gaby just nodded, her eyes focused on Illya’s face.

\- Guys! Just if you wonder, there are no bugs in your room so you can have all the fun you want. - Napoleon ginned at his friends.

\- Shut it, Solo! - both of the spies returned at their friend.

The walk to their hotel room was short and silent. Neither Gaby nor Illya knew what to say or to do to not spoil the moment. Even after their kiss they still didn’t know what they were. Moreover, neither had voiced their feelings childishly afraid of another’s response. In a complete silence they entered their room, the king-size bed looked more tempting and inviting than ever. Yet again, no one dared to make a first step. Finally, in the middle of their room, Illya swept Gaby of the floor and lifted her into his arms as if she weighted nothing and kissed her hard on the lips. She wrapped her slim legs around his waist. Her little palms immediately cupped his face as she returned the kiss. At last, they were alone. Just them and no one else. They were free to talk or to remain silent, to give in to their desires or just stay where they were. They could do everything or nothing at all. When they parted, their lips were still mere inches apart. Gaby looked into Illya’s ocean blue eyes and she still couldn’t believe it was all real. She was in love and the man she was in love with was alive and warm to the touch and his eyes had the same spark that had enchanted her back in Rome. Or perhaps even back in Germany...

\- Just get on with it already! - Napoleon shouted through the closed door.

\- GET OUT! - the couple shouted back, not quite sure whether they were angry or amused by the American’s behaviour. Illya took a few steps towards the king-size and laid Gaby down on the bed putting a soft kiss on her forehead. She was so lost in that feeling and so tired she didn’t notice that her man was already out of her reach, taking off his shirt and heading away from the bed.

\- What are you doing? - she asked lifting herself on the elbows.

\- I’m.. taking a shower. Been a rough day and...

\- Come here, I need to patch you up. – she bit her lip at how pathetic and desperate she sounded in her attempt to make him come back to her and finish what they’d started.

\- This can wait. - she loved how thick his accent was when he was speaking in English.

\- No, it cannot! - Gaby quickly made it to the other side of the bed and grabbed Illya’s hand.

She was kneeling on the bed, Illya’s muscular figure still towering over her. As their eyes met, the patching up was a distant issue. Gaby couldn’t take her eyes of the beautiful man standing in front of her. And she didn’t mean just his incredibly good looks. He was beautiful also on the inside. He took care of her back in Sicily and he understood why she acted like she had and never once complained about her bossing him around. He was a friend and a protector not only to her but also to Solo. A true saviour. He never underestimated her for being a tiny woman. He would always treat her like an equal and appreciate her for her work. Gaby looked up at Illya from her heavy eyelashes and she couldn’t get enough of him. She was looking at him as if he was a religious painting of a saint in a church she could pray to. In a matter of a few months he had become the centre of her thoughts, his face being the last image before she fell asleep. In that moment she didn’t care if she’s pathetic for caring so much about that man. Eventually, she could be both a strong and.. in love. Before her mind would start over thinking everything again, she placed her hands on Illya’s hips, never breaking the eye contact. Almost innocently, she started placing pepper kisses on his muscled stomach. His one hand was tangled in her hair as Gaby was getting higher, reaching his broad chest. She noticed he was whispering something in Russian, but what that meant - she didn’t know.

\- What did you say? – she muttered never stopping her work.

\- I said I didn’t know your idea of patching up is to kiss it better.  – Gaby chucked lightly at his remark.

\- You’re complaining? I can stop... – she didn’t get the chance to finish as Illya forced her by her chin to look up at him. The sudden action stole the air from her lungs.

Gaby looked at Illya with the greatest devotion he had ever seen and that was all he needed. In the matter of seconds she was lying on her back with the Russian spy on top of her kissing her passionately. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers running through his blond hair. His kisses on her neck sent shivers down her spine and that alone was making her crazy. Suddenly he stopped, making Gaby groan in disappointment. Illya looked down at the girl putting a strain of her hair behind her ear.

\- We have all the time in the world. We don’t have to rush this. – he managed to utter between the heavy breaths. The look on his face was full of love and care.

\- I know.. - Gaby whispered, trying hard to reach Illya’s lips, but he made sure to keep that agonizing distance between them.

\- You sure? - the answer he received was Gaby rolling them over so that now she was on top. She lightly kissed the bruises on his face, still not being able to forgive herself for that moment of weakness back in the Scarlotti mansion.

Soon they got rid of their clothes, scattering them all over the bedroom. Then there were deep kisses, soft touches, and heavy sighs. They were worshiping each other’s bruised and battered bodies paying attention to every inch of them. Illya’s hands, the very same hands that probably took lives of many, were now on Gaby’s hips, softly guiding her movements and he couldn’t get enough of the sight of that little woman looking at him from above. In a few moments their breathing became more erratic and then their heavy breaths were followed by loud moans as they reached the stars. Gaby’s weightless body lied on Illya’s chest and if he hadn’t known better he’d though she’s dead.  When their breathing became normal again he noticed she’d fallen asleep so he just kissed the top of her head whispering “Goodnight little chop shop girl” and smiling to himself. For the first time in months he slept peacefully.

 

The first rays of sunshine sneaked up lazily into the room, slowly crawling up the bed. The neon lights of the world outside were replaced by orange glimmer of the sunrise. The seagulls were sitting by the Grande Canale singing their song. Even though Venice was known as a holiday destination of many tourists it seemed to be at peace that morning. It looked as if the world slowed down and found its own nirvana. The people on the streets were in no rush, chatting merrily as they were heading to their destinations. Some men would laugh loudly, their voices low and on any other day or night it would sound dangerous. But on that day everything was fine.

Gaby woke up, but she didn’t dare to open her eyelids, not just yet. She was afraid that it was all a dream and that yesterday had no happy end. Her fears were chased away by the unusual warmth of the body lying next to her. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes and immediately a smile appeared on her face. She thought to herself that she wouldn’t mind waking up like this every morning. The man by her side was beautiful. His short blond hair was slightly messed and Gaby remembered how just a few hours ago she had her fingers entangled in it. His blue eyes were still closed and she couldn’t wait for him to finally wake up and look at her as if she was his whole world. Illya’s chest was lifting and dropping in a peaceful sleep. She put her head on Illya’s chest, her small palm drawing light patterns on his skin. Like a cat she studied barely visible scars she hadn’t noticed before. She was so deep in her thoughts she didn’t notice that Illya was watching her.

\- Good morning. - Gaby lifted her head at the sound of his voice. Its tone and the Russian accent made it feel like honey to her ears. She looked at him and saw that heart-warming smile she loved so much.

\- Good morning. - she responded smiling back at him. She leaned down to place a kiss on his lips.

\- Good morning. - The two spies nearly jumped at the sound of Napoleons snarky voice. They started dramatically searching for the bed sheets to cover themselves. Their American friend was leaning on the doorframe biting into an apple. - How’s it goin’, lovebirds?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. They belong to their original creators and are used for non-profit entertainment purposes alone.


End file.
